


Gilded Age

by Song



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, But mostly just hurt, Dangst, Dark, Forced Orgasm, Horror, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 20:33:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13934853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Song/pseuds/Song
Summary: Morgana extracts her revenge on Arthur and Camelot in the cruelest way possible, even though the kingdom now welcomes magic.Inevitably, Merlin arrives too late.





	Gilded Age

**Author's Note:**

> In the legend, Mordred is Morgana and Arthur's son. I'm sorry, I couldn't resist.  
> Thank you Pelydryn for the beta!

Arthur yawns, grabbing the bottom of his ink stained shirt, pulling it over his head and throwing it into the corner. Merlin had retired some time ago, leaving Arthur alone to finish the draft they'd been discussing for the past fortnight.

He puts out the candelabra lighting the parchment on his desk and stands, groaning as his body protests the movement. Feet numb with exhaustion he stumbles over to his bed, collapsing on the blankets.

Outside a crow caws, breaking the still of the night.

Wind gusts loudly, throwing his window open. Through the opening a large bird flies. It flaps towards his bed and begins changing, growing larger and larger into the all too familiar form dressed in black.  
  
"Evening, Arthur," Morgana coos.

He lunges for his sword, stored next to the bed, but her eyes flash gold like the scorching summer sun and he's motionless, incapable of movement.

She pushes him onto the mattress. He opens his mouth, to yell, to scream, to call Merlin or the guards or something but nothing comes out.

She laughs condescendingly. "Can't have you alerting the guards." She smirks and it's nothing of the kind girl he'd grown up with, echoing their father in his less than rational moments.

"For a king who's supposedly embraced magic, it was disturbingly easy to infiltrate Camelot."

And he knows she's right.

He hasn't had any magical protection placed for fear of it being taken the wrong way. He didn't want to alarm the druids or scare the court or frighten the townsfolk, still so fearful of magic. And when Merlin asked him, begged him even, he'd never let him raise any wards, content in the security of his own citadel.

Undoing the laces on his sleep trousers, she pulls the soft cotton down to uncover him. The cloth is dragged away from his skin, just below his groin. She lifts his soft prick and tuts. "Honestly Arthur, I'm disappointed."

He fights to keep the flush of shame from his face, but knows he's failed when she grins.

With carefully manicured nails she wraps her hand around his cock, and tugs, stroking until he's hard.

Revulsion broiling up from his gut, he swallows back the gorge rising in his throat. He doesn't want this, doesn't like this, but his cock is firm under her hands and he wonders what other men she's touched, if they wanted it.  
  
Her tattered dress disintegrates into wisps of shadow, and she is wearing nothing beneath the rags.

She stands, breasts bouncing and nipples peaked with arousal. Licking her red lips she steps forward and climbs onto his bed, the moonlight illuminating her pale skin. She directs his cock into her body and descends; smooth and warm and entirely wrong. Her dark wiry hair tangles with his.

She begins moving rising up, then sliding down and sucking him back up into her body.

Gritting his teeth he tries, prays to anyone listening that he won't spill. Bastards and lines of succession flit through his mind and most of all he doesn't want this, never wanted this but he can't, he can't anymore and he's coming inside her, spilling his seed in his sister.

And he's never felt as sick as he does now.

Reaching behind her, she almost tenderly lifts his sac, soft and relaxed after orgasm, and trails a finger down, down and rubs the soft skin between his sex and bottom, then further between his cheeks. He shudders at the touch of magic against his hole, familiar and tingling.

Air tickles his insides as she opens him, her magic delicate and wrong within him, searching like a hound on a scent until she finds what she's looking for.

Something snaps tight around his cock and balls, holding them in place. She strokes the spot within him, and he doesn't soften, instead getting harder far sooner than should be possible. He wonders if this is some perverse form of witchcraft.

When she's satisfied with his arousal, she reaches between her legs, her finger beckoning and rubbing. Her mouth opens in pleasure, and she throws her head back and begins to tighten around him and his oversensitive cock and it hurts, it hurts and she's shaking, pulsating, squeezing his hips and cock with her legs and body and scouring his chest with her long nails, rocking against him as she shakes and quivers, making his bed creak as she moves.  
  
The trembling stops. Ripples of what must be her orgasm mellow, and she might've been beautiful but it's so wrong, wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong.

The muscles in her belly tense, and with one last squeeze, unsteadily gets to her feet and saunters over to the window, opening to allow the cool night air to seep inside his chambers and climbing onto the will. With a rancorous leer thrown over her shoulder she transforms into a crow, knotted, black hair morphing into sleek black feathers. With a grating caw that rings in his ears she takes flight and dissolves into the night, leaving him alone, exposed, restrained and hard.

He doesn't know how long he waits, cock aching like the blow of a mace, but he knows hours have passed when the air begins to shed the oppressive night. Sunbeams stream from high windows of his chamber, lighting the stone masonry in a welcoming warmth completely inappropriate to the situation. Outside birds sing cheerfully, perched in gently rustling trees, oblivious and uncaring to one man's shame.

Merlin will be coming soon, bringing his breakfast and today's roster.

Nearly as soon as the thought crosses his mind, "Morning Arthur," drifts in as the heavy wooden door creaks open. "You've got a lot to-" The tray crashes to the floor, dishes breaking, food and silverware scattering as Merlin absorbs the scene before him.

He can't move but knows, feels Merlin's horror filled gaze. In an instant Merlin's at his bedside.

A flash of familiar (safe) gold releases his bonds and the dark magic restraining him, and Arthur rolls to the side and vomits. The bed dips down as an equally familiar hand tentatively rests between his shoulder blades.

He expels last night's unrecognizable meal until only sour yellow-green bile comes up. He continues to heave, his eyes watering from the acid sting in his throat and dribbling from his nose. His gut aches, surging and retreating like the tide while Merlin continues to rub soothing circles on the naked skin of his back.

When the dry heaves at last subside he shakily pushes himself into a sitting position, and notices a white smear on the crimson sheets.

He doesn't even remember coming.

Merlin follows his gaze, and with a whispered word the bile and seed vanish along with the acrid smell.  
  
He wants to curl up and hide until the shadows swallow him, until there's nothing left. Run from the brave reds and joyous golds of his youth, away from his people and his kingdom and duties. Away from his shame. He can still feel her hands on him, her body moving against his, her slick dried on his skin and sweat stinging the gouges she'd clawed in his chest. He feels tainted, like rust eating away at a sword and poisoning the steel's integrity. Shattered, like the broken porcelain on the floor.

Merlin sits next to him, comforting presence the quiet sentinel of strength that he does not have.

He looks up at Merlin's stormy and turbulent face. His eyes are darker than he's ever seen, brow creased and pupils flecked with angry power.

Thunder booms over the citadel.

He flinches.

Soundless tears begin to drip down his face, quickly developing into snotty, wet, choking sobs that he can barely breathe through.

Merlin wraps his long arms around him, holding him close. He buries his face in Merlin's robes, and cries.

* * *

 

_Fin_

 


End file.
